


You For Me

by Polly_Lynn



Category: Castle
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2014-06-08
Packaged: 2018-02-03 21:51:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1757881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polly_Lynn/pseuds/Polly_Lynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"That's what really annoys him. The fact that it's such a performance. All the hair twirling and walking like two feet away to take his call. <em>Oh, hi Brad. </em>Letting Lanie fix her up, so of course everyone's talking about it. About Mr. July and puppies. About what a 'good guy' he is."</p>
            </blockquote>





	You For Me

**Author's Note:**

> A one shot set during The Third Man (2 x 14). Goes AU in the middle of their dates.

  


The whole thing just creeps up on him. The whole stupid thing. His day is ruined—absolutely _ruined_ —by 9 am, thanks to the dumb item in the paper. The fact that he's terrified of her seeing it. The fact that everyone thinks he _should_ be terrified. Everyone knows he should be. And he is.

He's terrified even though he didn't do anything. He didn't do _anything_. He has no idea how they ended up running that blurb, so why should he be terrified?

He is, though. _Terrified._

She knows, too. She doesn't know what it's about, but she can smell the fear on him the minute he shows up at the crime scene. And what's the point?

He spends the whole morning being terrified, and there's no point at all. He runs around trying to keep one step ahead of her, but but she finds out. Of course she finds out. It's in the fucking _paper_ and what kind of idiot is he, scrambling to stave off the inevitable when he hasn't even _done_ anything?

And does she have to look so _appalled_ at the very thought of it? It pisses him off.

That and how funny everyone else thinks it is. Ryan and Esposito, of course. But the captain, too. Like it's _so_ ridiculous. Like the idea of the two if them together is so impossible. Laughable.

The whole stupid thing just pisses him off.

* * *

The timing couldn't be better. He runs into Donna and sets her straight. Lets her know how ridiculous it is. The very idea of him and Beckett. It's _hilarious_ , right? Everyone seems to think so.

He walks away with a number. It's perfect. Exactly what he's looking for. It's been a while. Way longer than he'd realized since he's been out there.

Paula's been bugging him. Paula's _always_ bugging him, but now that he does the math, it's really been a while. And he could do way worse than coming out of retirement with bachelorette number three on his arm. So it's perfect.

He thought she'd be happy. Beckett. He though she'd be relieved, but she's not.

There's no thank you. No acknowledgment that _she_ wins here, too. No, far be it from Kate do-you-know-how-hard-it-is-to-be-a-female-cop Beckett to actually be _grateful_ that he's trying to make her life easier.

No, she's just amused by it all. The very idea that a woman might _want_ to her name and his above the fold. She thinks it's hilarious, and she's not even a little grateful.

She's kind of bitchy about it, frankly. _Nine meets three at dinner for two._ Just like the old days when she barely bothered to be polite.

So much for being used to him pulling her pigtails and him making her job a little more fun.

So much for wanting him around.

* * *

She has a date. Isn't _that_ interesting. All of a sudden Beckett has a date.

He shouldn't care. He doesn't. It's not that he _cares_. It just annoys him. It's so _unnecessary._

He's taking care of it. He already has. Barely twenty-four hours later and it's taken care of. By the time the morning paper hits everyone's doormat, they'll all be talking about it. Bachelor number nine and bachelorette number three, out on the town.

She knows that. But of course that's not enough. It's not enough that it's taken care of.

No, she had to go get a date of her own. And she has to make sure he knows. Name-dropping Drago like that? She knew he'd ask. She _wanted_ him to ask. Just in case he hadn't heard.

Like that's possible. He's heard. _Everybody's_ heard. And he's heard it from everybody. Because they're _all_ talking about it.

That's what really annoys him. The fact that it's such a performance. All the hair twirling and walking like two feet away to take his call. _Oh, hi Brad._ Letting Lanie fix her up, so of course everyone's talking about it. About Mr. July and puppies. About what a "good guy" he is.

And she knows he knows. He could kick himself for that. For taking the bait. For giving her the satisfaction and another chance at a dig.

And it backfired anyway. Her performance. She went pink as can be when Montgomery brought up the puppies. And she was clearly jumping at the chance to cancel anyway.

Not that he cares. It just annoys him.

* * *

It's the worst date he's ever been on.

It's entirely her fault. Beckett's. Because she's _here_ looking like _that._ And who the hell does she think she is? Hissing through her teeth at him. Asking _him_ what _he's_ doing here. Like she's not the one who's completely out of her element. Her and _Brad._

It threw him for a loop. Seeing her here. Having _Brad_ hovering over her shoulder and actually having to shake his hand. Pin-up boy and puppy savior. Having to stand there and smile while she assures _Brad_ that he's not a cop. That he's just her shadow.

It all threw him and he's been off his game ever since. Everything is going wrong. Every single thing. And this should be easy. He's _good_ at this, and he should be having a great time with . . . Amanda. Her name is Amanda, and they know all the same people. They've been to all the same places. Her gossip is his gossip, and this should be going great.

It's not going great at all. He can't concentrate on a single thing she says. It's like this drone. He just can't follow anything this woman . . . _Amanda_ is saying. He's being rude and he hates himself for it, even though it's her fault. Beckett's.

He talks instead. That's better. He _has_ to follow if it's him talking, and she seems interested in the case. Amanda seems interested. And Beckett would be annoyed if she knew. He's not supposed to talk about cases with outsiders. But she's not an outsider, she's his date.

And anyway, _she_ is. Beckett. She's _obviously_ regaling Brad with details about the case. He knows the look. That intensity. The way she folds her hands when she almost has something. That far-off look when she's on to the next thing.

And she is. She's totally on to the next thing. And she's going after it without him.

She's touching Brad on the arm, brushing by by him with another touch as she leaves the table. She's on to something and she's going after it alone.

Like hell she is.

* * *

She smiles at him as he walks up. The hard flash of teeth she gives when she's on the trail. When _they're_ on the trail. She gives him that much and no more.

But she's flipping her phone closed, too. She's brushing past him. Dismissing him, because he's clearly got nothing to add. He came to the exact same conclusion at the exact same time, like a good shadow should, and now he can go.

She's already got Ryan and Esposito on it. There's nothing to do but wait now. He has nothing to add, and she has to get back to her date. She has to get back to _Brad_.

And he has to get back to his. _Amanda_.

He says it before she can. It's childish as hell, but he wants to be the one walking away, so he says it first. That he'd better get back. She smiles again. Tight this time, and insincere. She asks how it's going. Smirks when he lies and asks the same.

_Fantastic_ , she says, and she's going.

She's going, except his hand locks around her wrist. The cold metal of her bracelet bites into his palm and he wonders fleetingly what it must be doing to her. If it's marking the long pale stretch of her skin with angry red.

"Sorry," he mutters. "Beckett, I . . . " His face blazes hot. He's mortified. His fingers fly apart and he jerks back.

He tries to, but she's rounding on him now. She's shoving her clutch under her arm and making fists like she's trying to decide where to hit him first. He braces. Pulls his arms in.

"What is your _problem_ , Castle?" She's hissing in his face. Quiet and controlled, though. Because she won't make a scene. She'd _never_ make a scene. _Brad_ might hear. He might rush in to see if there were any puppies that needed saving. If there's any problem a set of rock-hard abs might solve.

"Nothing," he mumbles, all too aware of the strange look a passing wine steward just gave them, however quiet and controlled she is. "Nothing . . . I should . . . we should both get back. I'm sorry I bothered you."

He tries to step past her, but she grabs for him instead. She has him by the lapels and she spins him. She spins the two of them through a door he hadn't even noticed and jerks it shut after herself.

He blinks in the sudden dark. It's a close space. Storage for cartons of something. Wine, he guesses when he stumbles into one and it doesn't budge. When he hears the jarring music of glass on glass.

"No," she says flatly. "You're _not_ sorry, Castle. I don't know _what_ this is, but you've been nothing but a pain in my _ass_ for two days, and you're not sorry."

It creeps up on him. Two days' worth of _this_. Two days' worth of being terrified and pissed off and _annoyed_ crawl right over his skin and he goes cold.

"Two days?" He spits out the words. "Don't you mean a year? Isn't that all I've been for the last year, Beckett? Nothing but a pain in your ass?"

She stops. He hears her breath catch. A pained hitch. She's barely a step from him—there's barely a step from him to _be_ in here—and he's just able to make out the red of her dress, the glint of gold at her ears and at her wrist as his eyes adjust to the thin lines of light filtering in around the edges of the door.

"Castle, what is this?" Her voice is low now. She sounds worn out. Tired. _Hurt_. "What do you _want?_ "

It's barely a step. He kind of doesn't know it's going to happen. He doesn't really believe it _is_ happening. Even when his mouth lands on her bare shoulder and he tastes her skin. Even when he hears his own voice.

"This." He feels the heat of his breath gathering against against her throat and he still doesn't quite believe it. His hands trace the drape of her dress. He hooks a stiff curl and tugs. Releases it and flicks at the tiny droop of one earring. He drags the backs of his nails over the ridge of bracelets, and his mouth falls to her shoulder again. To bare skin. "I want this to be for me."

His hands skim down her sides. His fingers press into the warmth of her. He turns her hips and presses her body back. His mouth travels up and up. She's quiet. He feels her swallow— _hard_ —but she's quiet. He wonders if he should be terrified. If now would be a good time for that.

It might be, but his mouth runs on ahead. His tongue darts out to turn the corner of her jaw. His teeth catch her earlobe and her breath picks up, sharp and sudden. His right hand glides back up. His palm presses the bare skin over her heart. The strong steady pulse draws his lips back down again. Quicker and quicker every second, every breath. He drops one kiss after another along the diagonal of her dress. His fingers trail down from shoulder to elbow and back up again.

She shivers. Over and over, she shivers. Her spine curves tall and away. Her head drops back and her heart pounds. But she's quiet. Still she's quiet and he _is_ terrified now. Shaking as he brings his hand to her cheek. As he turns her face toward his own. Toward what little light there is and his mouth runs on ahead.

"I want _you_ , Kate." He dips his mouth hers. His lips hover and change direction at the last second. He kisses her cheek. He brushes his nose along her jaw and waits. "I want you for me."

Something thunks to the ground then. Her purse. His brain tells him that a few seconds later that it must be, because she's after him with both hands all of a sudden. She's tugging at his hair and winding his tie around her fist and pulling his mouth to her own at last.

She's kissing him and scuttling backward, taking him with her. She clambers, graceless and practical, up on to a box or something, and it's better. It's so much better. Not even that step between them now. He drags his left hand heavy up her hip. Over her ribs and all along her shoulder blade. He hooks his fingers under the fabric and eases it down, following with his lips.

She shimmies her shoulders with an impatient huff. He laughs against her skin and obliges. Yanks the dress down all at once and captures her breast with his mouth. He sucks hard pulls back just a little, tracing tight circles with his tongue. It draws a string of gasps from her. Stuttering music he decides then and there he wants to hear for the rest of his life.

The thought catches him unawares. He pushes it away. Frantically tells himself _Not now. Not now._ But it stays.

He straightens, hands curled around her hips, and stands in front of her stock still. She's naked to the waist. Her head is tipped forward as her mouth works over his chest, biting and soothing and coming to rest from time to time. He's staring down her spine and the dance of her shoulder blades as her hands roam low on his hips takes his breath away.

She pushes the shirt from his shoulders. His jacket's gone already and God knows where his tie has gotten to. She's hard at work on his belt and he hears himself say her name. He looks down and sees his hands closing around her wrists and her looking up, surprised.

"Kate." He leans in and kisses her. Slow this time, but it doesn't help with what he has to say. What he thinks he should say. It just burns them both a different way. "We should . . . maybe we should . . ."

She kisses him. Hard. Not slow. Not at all. She jerks her wrists free, and her hands snake the whole length of his body. Belt to jaw in a merciless instant. Her nails bite into his scalp and she kisses him hard.

"Castle, if you say 'stop,' there's going to be violence." She pulls back to peer at him suspiciously. "Not the good kind," she adds.

He laughs. A single note of something between them that helps. That tells him this is where they've been heading all along, and it's not just some mistake in a cramped dusty space. But he wants more than this. Some kind of certainty from her.

"I know," she murmurs against his skin and he wonders if he's said something out loud. "I know," she says again. Her hands travel low. The tongue of his belt slides free of the buckle with an emphatic jerk.

"I know," she says a third time. "But I want you, Castle." Her thumb works at his button and her wrist twists in some impossible move. She slides her palm over his hip. Her fingers creep beneath the waistband of boxers and her whole hand is curled around him. "I want you for me."

He moves then. Gives in or takes what's his. Or maybe he's just handing over what's rightfully hers. He moves. She moves. It's a dark, busy, fumbling business. A din of whispers, encouragement and curses and demands as his cheek roughs over her breasts and her calves snake behind his thighs to pull him closer.

He spreads one hand wide at her back, coaxing her taller and taller as he steps between her legs. His other hand falls to her knee and she tangles their fingers together. She drags the fabric of her dress higher and higher and rolls her hips against the knot of their hands, groaning at the contact.

She's wet. Scorching and soaked and it's all he can do to tug free of her hold. He thumbs aside the fabric of her panties, brushing her clit along the way and winning a gorgeous run of curses for his trouble.

He laughs. He starts to anyway, but she retaliates before he can really make a go of it. She drags her nails high at the inside of his thigh. She wraps her fingers around him and strokes hard. She arches up and bites at his lip.

"Want you," she breathes. "Want you now."

He jerks her hand aside. He presses closer and hesitates just long enough to drag against her. Long enough to make her pay just a little before he drives forward. Into her with one motion and the whole dark space lights up. His eyes roll back in his head and thank _God_ she's more than a little prone to violence.

Her nails sink into his hips and her teeth catch the skin over the hard knot of his shoulder. It saves him. Teeth on skin and eight half moons of just enough pain save him.

"Fuck," he groans against her, stilling.

He tries to slow. To get a hold of himself, but she's having none of it.

"Fuck." She finds his mouth and breaths the curse back into it.

She raises her hips and he just manages to catch the backs of her thighs as she drives against him, nearly toppling them both. He clings to her and she clings to him. She plants the heel of one hand on a box—against the wall or something—and raises a little higher. He sucks and bites and licks at her breasts, sloppy and furious as she closes her fists in his hair and jerks his head where she wants it.

He pushes into her with short strokes. Mindless and unthinking until he feels the breath gathering in her. He feels her thighs tighten around his waist and everything in her pulling him deeper. He knows with sudden, terrifying clarity that Kate Beckett is _loud_.

"Kate." He jerks free of the death grip she has on his hair. He tries to look her in the eye. Tries to warn her, but it's happening too fast. She's too far gone. He wraps his fingers hard around the back of her neck and pulls her mouth to his shoulder.

"Quiet," he manages to grit out. Somehow he manages. "Kate, you have to . . . _._ "

The words leave him. Everything leaves him without warning as her mouth opens and her teeth close over his skin in a soundless howl. Her hips thrash. He holds her still. Tries to as he grinds hard into her, pouring out and out and out for what feels like forever.

She's quiet against him when he comes back to himself. Gentler than he would have expected.

_Sweeter,_ he thinks as he kisses her and she kisses him back. She bites him the next second, though. A nip at his lower lip like she can read his mind and he laughs.

They lean together longer than they should. Long after her breath slows and his heart seems to be back more or less where it belongs, they stay leaning together. Cold and awkward, but better than having to give each other up.

Her phone rings, then.

"Esposito," she says calmly and that has him moving away at speed. She laughs and he's glad all at once for the dark.

He stoops and finds her purse, a luminous oblong in the dark. He hands it over and she answers. He supposes she has to, but it's right up there with his first time for maximal awkwardness.

He's trying to give her space in 4-foot-wide closet. She rolls her eyes and he wants her all over again. Just like that. He crowds against her. Palms the side of her breast and circles her nipple with thumb and forefinger. Her breath catches hard enough in her throat that he knows Esposito hears it. He laughs against her neck and stifles a yelp against her chest when she pinches him hard.

She finishes up the call and shoves him back. He falls into the wall and she goes with him, climbing up his body and _God_ he wants her again.

But she's sliding away now. She's pulling her dress around and up and he supposes he should help. He does. He settles and tugs and in the end she's covered, more or less. It's about all either of them can say even in the low light.

"Shit," she breaths as she smooths a palm down the hopelessly wrinkled skirt.

"Wait." He stoops to grope around on the floor and comes up with his jacket. "Here." He helps her into it. It's . . . not great, but it's better. It comes all the way around her, at least, and hides the worst of the damage to her dress.

"Back way?" she asks briskly as she hands him his shirt and sets to work smoothing out his tie.

"Yeah, I can . . ." he jerks his head toward the front of the restaurant. "I'll say the call was urgent."

"Oh, God," she groans and presses a hand to her eyes. "Castle, I'm . . . you shouldn't have to do that."

"It'll be . . ." he trails off. Gives her a crooked smile in the dark. "Well, it won't be ok. It'll be horribly awkward. Twice. And I might get punched. Twice. But it'll be fine."

"Fine," she says skeptically as she flips up his collar and drapes his tie around his neck. Her fingers are quick. Neat. She loops the ends around one another faster than he can follow and the knot is perfect. The length is perfect and his heart bangs against his ribs with the intimacy of it.

"Worth it," he says as he leans to kiss her. "Punching and all. Worth it."

She laughs. Leans against him for a moment and straightens. She shoulders him behind her and cracks open the door, surveying the scene. She turns back to him, all business.

"Ok, I'm headed that way, you . . . try to be fine." Her mouth twists and she presses another rueful kiss to his.

He nods. Takes a breath and steps back, not even remotely ready to let her go, but he has to. For now, at least, he has to.

She nods back, hand on the door. "I'll grab a cab. Have it waiting at the corner."

"Waiting," he blinks at her.

"Waiting," she repeats, like he's kind of an idiot.

He grins at her. He is. He's kind of an idiot. She shakes her head, yanks open the door and turns back, just for a second.

"See you soon, Castle," she says, and then she's gone.

"See you soon," he breathes after her.

* * *


End file.
